


i think he knows

by lonelydoctors



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Bad Puns, Bickering, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Death, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Kiss, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hammock, Internalized Homophobia, It's the Losers Club after all, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mentioned Losers Club (IT), Mentioned Pennywise (IT), Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Not A Fix-It, Pre-Relationship, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Soft Richie Tozier, Strong Language, THEY COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, courtesy of richie, features all the reddie, kissing bridge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 14:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelydoctors/pseuds/lonelydoctors
Summary: When their eyes meet across the room, Richie inhales sharply and adjusts his glasses. (He hasn’t done that in a while he thinks, but he can’t be sure.) He remembers buying ice-cream and playing stupid games, he remembers studying side by side and carving letters into a stupid bridge. He remembers kissing in a hammock and unspoken words and heavy hearts. He wonders if Eddie still carries the inhaler in his pocket.______or: a timeline of Richie's and Eddie's love





	i think he knows

**Author's Note:**

> i only wanted to watch a clown movie, how the hell did i end up here?

Unbelievable.

Richie fights the blush creeping up his neck when the hammock shakes beneath him and, the arguably very small, Eddie starts climbing into it.

The next joke dies on his lips and he closes his mouth lamely, suddenly all too aware of the proximity of Eddie and the way his legs try to fit in between his own. Richie swallows thickly.

As if Eddie Kaspbrak would really squeeze himself into such a tiny space, tangled limbs and touching skin, just to spite him. Or so, Richie thought. Apparently he was wrong.

His gaze flicks towards the grumpy look on Eddie’s face, the defiant glint beneath his eyes, and he wants nothing more than to smooth the furrows on his forehead and brush his fingers through his brown curls. Hyper aware of the other Losers in the Clubhouse, however, he merely licks his lips and says, “There’s clearly not enough room, Eddie.”

“It’ll fit.”

“That’s what your mum said last night.”

They keep on bickering for a while, earning them not only one annoyed glance from the others, until Eddie finally finds a position he deems comfortable enough to settle on, and he sighs, letting his eyes slide shut as he leans back against the hammock.

Richie feels Stan staring from the other side of the Clubhouse, his eyes boring into him, so he quickly adjusts his glasses and tears his gaze away from Eddie, returning them to the open book in his hands.

“Since when do you read anyway?”

Eddie’s sudden voice breaks him out of his thoughts, though it’s not like he could focus on the words anyway, what with the love of his life being so close that he can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

“Girls like boys who read, don’t you know that, Eds?”

Surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t respond and they fall back into a comfortable silence, the faint voices of the others talking a calming background noise. They seem way more far away to Richie than they really are, his mind occupied and compromised by the small space he’s currently sharing with Eddie.

Richie clears his throat and adjusts his glasses again, palms slippery and sweaty, and he tries to focus on the book, re-reading the same sentence over and over again, but the words are swimming before his eyes and the sound of Eddie’s steady breathing fills his ears.

He’s very much aware of the fact that he’s acting weird right now, all quiet and tense, so he racks his brain for something to say, some stupid joke or clever remark, anything, really, because it’s not like him to be that reserved and he knows it. When he can’t think of a single thing to say, his heartbeat speeds up and he can feel his skin tingling where Eddie’s body touches his and his mind buzzing with unwanted thoughts.

“Hey Eds,” he says eventually and puts the book down, his voice surprisingly steady.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’d love to be able to change people’s minds,” he continues, completely ignoring Eddie’s remark about the name.

“What do you mean?”

Richie loves the fact that Eddie doesn’t even question the ridiculous words coming out of his mouth.

“You know. Change what someone is thinking about you.”

“That’s cheating, though. I’d prefer just knowing what they’re really thinking. So they can’t lie to me.”

And Richie knows that Eddie is probably saying that with his mum and the doctors mind, yet he can’t help but suppress a shudder at the thought of Eddie knowing exactly what goes through his mind whenever he looks at him.

“I don’t need that kinda stuff when it comes to your mum. She makes sure to tell me just how much she loves having me–“

Eddie rolls his eyes and slaps him on the cheek with his foot, knocking his glasses askew. “Beep beep, Richie.”

Richie huffs and adjusts his glasses, feigning exasperation, but all he can think about when the smaller boy leans back and looks down at the shower cap in his hands is, _I love you, I love you, I love you, I’m so in love with you it hurts._

•

“St-Stop it, Eddie!”

Richie makes a grab for Eddie’s arm, trying to snatch the inhaler out of his hands. “Will you just–Eddie!”

Twisting and turning violently, Eddie desperately tries to free himself from Richie’s grasp and bring the inhaler to his mouth.

“Let–“ His words get interrupted by frantic, choked inhale. “–go of me, Richie!”

Richie furrows his brows and stills momentarily, Eddie’s shrill and panicked voice carrying through the woods around them, and before he knows it, Eddie tears himself away and quickly takes a deep breath from his inhaler, visibly relaxing immediately after.

“Dipshit! You want me to die or something?”

“You weren’t gonna die…” Richie mumbles, his voice unusually quiet, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, neither his tone nor the slack in his shoulders or the shocked look in his eyes, still preoccupied with his own wheezing breathing.

“Richie, I have asthma! I literally need that inhaler to breathe!”

By now, Eddie is almost screeching, gesticulating wildly to the point his breaths turn shallow again and he has to squeeze his eyes and mouth shut to try and control his shaking hands and trembling breathing.

“I think you don’t really need that thing…” Richie says, after Eddie calmed down enough to listen to him, fixing his glasses and shifting his weight from one leg to the other nervously.

Slowly, Eddie opens his eyes and straightens his body to glare at his friend, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

“How would you know? Are you a doctor by any chance? No? Didn’t think so. Jeez, Rich, I have _asthma_! What do you not get about that? I can’t breathe without my inhaler.”

“Yeah, but maybe you don’t. You’re stronger thank you think, you know.”

“Fuck you, this has nothing do with strength, Richie!”

When Eddie turns around on his heels and stomps off angrily, inhaler tightly clutched in his right hand, Richie merely sighs and stares after him, cursing his own inability to…whatever the fuck love is.

•

“Guys, uh…”

Richie stops on his bike and all the other Losers turn around to look at him. His stomach twists, tying itself in painful knots, and Richie feels like they know. Like they can see it on his face, seeping through his clothes and dripping from his skin.

He clears his throat and starts again, pointedly not looking at Eddie who’s staring at him with the same confused expression they all wear. Which makes sense, you know, given the fact that they were just on their way to the Neibolt house to fight against a killer clown.

“I just need to take care of something real quick before this. I’ll meet you all there.”

Mike frowns and opens his mouth, probably to tell him how much of a bad idea it is to go wandering about alone right now, but before he can even utter a single word, Eddie steps forward and starts yelling, an angry look in his eyes.

“What the hell, Richie! Do it later or tomorrow or whenever, we don’t have time right now to waste on…whatever the hell you’re planning on doing! If you haven’t noticed we’re about to go on a–"

“_Ohhh_,” Richie cooes, “are you worried about me, Eds?”

“Don’t call me that!” Eddie hisses promptly and takes another step towards him. Richie’s not quite sure what his intention is.

“Eddie,” Bev calls then and Eddie’s and Richie’s eyes both snap to her. “Let’s just go. Richie, be quick, okay?”

Richie gives a curt nod and mounts his bike, turning around at the same time as he says, “That’s what Mrs K says every night, too.”

He doesn’t wait for them to react, doesn’t really need to, and just bikes off, making sure to take a small detour so they don’t guess where he’s heading.

When he arrives, everything is quiet. An eerie kind of silence and calm, only tainted by the rapid beat of his own heart pounding against his ribcage.

_Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid._

Richie takes a moment to gather his thoughts and come to terms with what he’s about to do, before he starts walking towards the far end of the bridge, knife clutched tightly in his right hand in very much the same way Eddie always clutches his inhaler.

With trembling hands and shaky breaths, he starts to carve the letters into the wood, the curved form of the _R_ proving itself quite difficult to trace with a knife. He takes his time with the second letter, making sure it’s as neat and straight as he can manage. Eddie would like it that way.

When it’s all done, Richie gets up from the ground and brushes the dust off his trousers. He only stops to stare at his work for a split second before he turns around and gets on his bike, quickly driving off in the direction of the Neibolt house where his friends are waiting.

_Lovesick, Lovesick, Lovesick, Lovesick, Lovesick._

He did it. And even though, Eddie doesn’t know, Richie can’t help but feel a strange warmth and giddy sense of excitement spread through his body, melting into his heart and setting his blood ablaze.

•

Richie can’t quite believe his luck.

They are, once again, squeezed into the hammock together, something that has become quite the norm over the last few years. Only this time, three minor details are different.

  


1\. None of the other Losers are currently present, because of school, work or whatever other reason. It’s just the two of them in the Clubhouse.

2\. The space in the hammock is getting progressively more tiny, with both of them growing at rapid speeds–even Eddie’s small frame became quite lanky over the summer. This, in turn, makes it increasingly more difficult to fit the both of them in.

3\. Eddie fell asleep. And right now, his body is currently resting between Richie’s legs, his head pressing down on his chest.

  


A warm autumn breeze wafts in through the entrance they left open and Eddie scrunches his nose up when it tickles his face and ruffles his, by now quite long, brown locks. He shifts and makes a small noise, leaving his lips slightly parted, and Richie gulps, his eyes glued to the sleeping boy in front of him.

With every passing year, it seems his stupid, utterly ridiculous and hopeless crush on Eddie only gets stronger. Richie thinks that maybe fighting a killer clown from outer space does that to a person, but then he is quickly reminded of the fact that he doesn’t feel that way about any of the other Losers.

None of them can make his skin tingle just with a single touch or make his heart race with just so much as a smile. Neither Bill nor Ben nor Bev or Stan and Mike can set his body on fire or make his stomach do somersaults with just a single word.

It’s just Eddie. It’s always been just Eddie.

When Eddie shifts in his sleep and subconsciously snuggles closer into Richie’s lap, his breath catches in his throat and he has to bite down on his bottom lip. Eddie is just _so close_ and he is just a teenage boy after all. He pretends to mull it over in his head, thinking about what it really means to kiss his best friend while he’s sleeping, but that’s only so he can feel better about doing it afterwards–the decision has already been made for him the moment Eddie fell asleep in his lap.

Still, there’s an unusual air of hesitation in his movement when he leans down, bringing their faces so close together he can count the freckles scattered across the bridge of Eddie’s nose and on the top of his cheeks.

He inhales carefully through his nose and closes his eyes, leaning even closer until there are only centimetres between them and he can feel Eddie’s breath against his lips. When it comes to actually kissing him, though, Richie freezes.

His heart beats a mile a minute and he’s about to open his eyes and pull back when–

“Well if you won't do it, I will.”

Immediately, Richie’s eyes fly open and he finds himself staring into brown ones, so dark and close that he’s tempted to drown in them. He doesn’t get the chance to, however, because the the next thing he knows are soft, warm lips on his own, tentatively moving against his mouth.

It’s really more of a short brush of lips than a kiss but Richie feels the blush creeping up his neck and his face heating up, and a surprised gasp escapes him as his eyes widen in disbelief.

Eddie Kaspbrak is kissing him? _Willingly_?

When they part, there’s a different kind of silence between them, tense and awkward and unsure, and Richie hates it.

“I…” he starts and adjusts his glasses with his free hand, the one that’s not currently buried underneath Eddie’s body. “I…”

Eddie just stares at him, the slightest hint of pink tinting his cheeks, waiting for him to actually say something that makes sense.

Richie bites down on the inside of his cheeks and tries again, heart still pounding furiously in his chest and lips still prickling with the sensation of Eddie’s mouth on his own, and he has to physically restrain himself from licking his lips.

“Cat got your tongue? Never thought I’d see the day when Trashmouth Tozier is actually left speechless.”

Eddie grins and Richie relaxes. _It’s okay._

“That’s what your mum said the first time I spent the night with her.”

Eddie groans and rams his elbow into his side, making Richie wince beneath him, yet there’s a weird kind of fondness to his voice when he says, “Beep fucking beep, Richie.”

•

Holy shit.

It’s been almost three decades, 27 whole fucking years, and yet it feels like they have never been a day apart. All the emotions and memories, all the love, rush back in at once, filling up his mind and bursting his chest and suddenly Richie’s back to being the 14-year old boy in love with his best friend.

Richie feels the urge to hold on to something the moment Eddie fucking Kaspbrak strolls into the restaurant like he owns the place, looking older and taller, yet still so much like the Eddie he knows and loves that it’s getting difficult to breathe.

When their eyes meet across the room, Richie inhales sharply and adjusts his glasses. (He hasn’t done that in a while he thinks, but he can’t be sure.) He remembers buying ice-cream and playing stupid games, he remembers studying side by side and carving letters into a stupid bridge. He remembers kissing in a hammock and unspoken words and heavy hearts. He wonders if Eddie still carries the inhaler in his pocket.

They sit down at the table and order food and Richie glances at Eddie next to him, not sure if he, too, remembers. That’s okay, though, he’s got enough love for the both of them.

“Wait, Eddie you got married?”

He swallows, the bitter taste of alcohol running down his throat. It’s doesn’t burn as much as the words coming out of his mouth, though, so he grins.

“Yeah, why’s it so fucking funny, dickwad?”

Despite the rather depressing topic of conversation, Richie has to suppress a smile because even though they’re both 40 year old grown-up men, he still manages to rile Eddie up just as much as he did when they were kids.

“What, to like a woman?”

“Fuck you, bro.”

Richie knows he’s being rude right now, knows that’s not a question you ask your friend after seeing them again for the first time in 30 years, knows that he should congratulate him on his marriage instead. But they’re not just friends and he genuinely can’t quite believe the fact that Eddie got married to a woman of all people. Because even if Eddie doesn’t remember what they had, he’s still pretty sure he would have been better off with a man.

He decides not to push it, though, content with being able to look into his brown eyes again, counting the thin crinkles around them whenever Eddie laughs and staring at the 5 o'clock shadow he never thought Eddie was capable of growing in the first place.

•

Eddie’s dying. And then he’s not.

When Richie’s eyes snap open, he’s met with brown ones staring back at him and a breathing, gloriously alive Eddie leaning over him.

He’s smiling, a smile so bright it fills the whole damn dark cave with light, shouting something at him, but Richie can’t move, can’t speak, so he’s left staring at the boy–_man_–he’s been in love with for almost all his life, watching the adrenaline sparkle in his eyes and the child-like excitement on his face.

Richie blinks, slowly and sluggishly, and when he opens his eyes again, the pieces all click and his mind starts working again and suddenly it all makes sense, but before he can even make a single sound, it happens again.

Eddie’s excited smile turns into a pained grimace as a tendril pierces right through his upper body. His eyes widen in shock, closely followed by a gasp and then there’s blood dripping onto Richie–_oh god, so much blood_-and Eddie’s coughing, more blood dribbling down his chin.

“Richie…?”

It’s only a single word, whispered so softly and quietly against all the shouting and crying around him, yet it’s the only thing Richie hears reverberate around his head, amplified by a million times. _Richie, Richie, Richie, Richie, Richie._

Eddie shouldn’t ever sound so scared.

“…Eddie.”

His own voice sounds foreign and hollow to his ears, very far away compared to Eddie’s, but before he can repeat himself or, you know, do something actually helpful instead of lying on the ground like a deer in the deadlights, Eddie, his beautiful, precious, Eddie, gets thrown across the cave, his body hitting the wall with a disgusting cracking sound.

Richie has seemingly lost all concept of time because suddenly he’s kneeling next to Eddie–a heavily bleeding Eddie, a dying Eddie–holding his limp body against his own and cradling his cheek.

His usual expressive eyes are distant and empty, the only warmth left in his body currently dripping onto his shirt from the gaping wound in his stomach and Richie has to fight the sobs raking their way up his throat. This is just another simulation, a trick, a false premonition, this can’t be happening, not really, _it can’t, it can’t, it cant, please don’t let it be true._

“Eddie,” he says and his tongue feels heavy. “Eds. Hey…hey Eddie, come on…stay with me, you can do this, I know you can.” Eddie keeps staring at him with that same blank expression, his breath wheezing in his chest. “You’re braver thank you think.”

When Eddie’s body starts shaking uncontrollably after that, Richie abruptly lets go and checks his injuries and vital signs, immediately alarmed, before he realises that Eddie is chuckling.

“_Ohhh…are you…worried…about me…Eds?_”

Richie stops moving, inhaling sharply, and it takes him a moment, and a glance at the teasing glint in Eddie’s eyes, to get it. 30 years and Eddie still remembers the stupid things he said as a child.

He’s not quite sure whether he’s laughing or crying when he wraps his arms around Eddie again, and briefly he thinks about how absolutely batshit crazy he must look right now, drenched in blood and dirt, cradling a grown man in his arms while he cries all over him. Eddie must hate how unhygienic all of this is.

“Don't call me that,” Richie whispers back and a faint smile grazes Eddie’s features, the dark red blood on the corners of his lips contrasting way too much with the paleness of his skin.

“Eddie, I…I know this is horrible timing and normally, I really don’t do those things in situations like these, you know I prefer the bedroom, but–“ He’s very much aware of the fact that he’s rambling, yet, even now, with Eddie on death’s doors, the actual words still terrify him.

“I just want you to know that–“

Eddie's grip on his shirt loosens and Richie’s gaze immediately snaps down in horror. With shaking arms, Eddie lifts his bloodied finger to his lips, signalling him to keep quiet. “Don’t…you dare…Rich. Tell me…later…when I can…say it back.”

Richie’s heart flutters and breaks at the same time. Eddie remembers, after all.

•

“Richie, I…”

They’re all standing in a circle around them, Pennywise defeated and a bleeding, wheezing, Eddie in Richie’s lap, gripping onto his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to reality. They’re all watching when Richie leans down and presses his forehead against Eddie’s sticky one, brushing the sweaty hair out of his face.

“Don’t you dare, Eddie. Tell me later when I can say it back.”

His voice breaks and his smile feels forced, something wet trickling down his face, and he hates himself because he knows Eddie will see how fake it is. Richie smiles anyway, despite the claws of coldness clutching his heart, expecting Eddie to laugh or smile or roll his eyes.

Instead, Eddie says, “I…fucked your mother.” And Richie’s smile dies.

It’s such a stupid joke, such a childish way to deal with emotions, but when Richie looks at Eddie’s face, a smile on his lips and a hint of the usual sparkle in his eyes, he knows what it really means. What it always meant. They both do.

“Hey, buddy–Eddie, hey, don’t…come on, don’t say that now.”

Richie wonders what the others must think right now, talking about shit like that in a moment like this. He decides he doesn’t care.

When Eddie’s grip slackens this time and his hand falls to his side, limp and weak, Richie knows that Eddie won’t make it. And Eddie knew it, too.

•

Eddie’s sweater feels warm around him, and honestly a bit too tight, but Richie doesn’t even really notice, instead burying his face in the soft fabric, breathing in the scent with closed eyes.

_It's so like Eddie to be a fancy perfume kinda guy_, he thinks as a quiet chuckle makes it past his lips. Yet, underneath all that heavy fragrance, he can still smell Eddie, the same scent of the boy he fell in love with years ago.

Richie smiles and opens his eyes again, turning his attention back towards the letters in front of him. Carefully, he lifts his hand with the knife in it and starts going over the faded letters in the wood, etching them into the bridge a second time.

His body trembles as silent tears start streaming down his cheeks and once he gets to the _E_, he can taste the salt on his lips as sobs rack his body. But there’s a smile firmly planted on his lips and his hand doesn’t shake this time.

“Eddie Spaghetti…” Richie whispers once he’s finished, letting his fingers trace over the letters, a symbol of his love then and a symbol of their love now.

When he gets up from the ground and wipes the tears off his face with the back of his hand, Richie can almost hear Eddie go, “I hate it when you call me that.”

“I know,” he breathes out into the air, pocketing the knife and walking towards his car, away from the bridge and away from Derry.

Someday, he’ll join him. And then they can finally get the happy ending they fucking deserve.

__

_I will always love you, or anyway I will always have loved you now. (And you will always be someone who was beautiful, once.)_

**Author's Note:**

> they deserved so much fucking better, i'm still bitter about it all  
  
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